Fear of Failing
by Meredith T. Tasaki
Summary: For the sgaflashfic LJ community cake or death challenge: Sometime in a very alternate future. "Then our city died, and I finally realized: I didn't solve those problems because I didn't want to."


Rating: PG, for language and... well... let's call it 'sheer wrongness'. Oh, and plenty of death.

Summary: Sometime in a very alternate future. "It's a choice," I say. "One of those things where you have two alternatives and you have to choose between them? This is your choice: cake or death."

Spoilers: ...First season. It'll make more sense if you've seen 'Hot Zone'. You may or may not want it to make more sense.

Notes: ...You know the spirit of this challenge? Take the inverse of that. That'll give you this fic. I think maybe I'll write two, so one can actually... be fun.

I'd already had this McKay in my head, and apparently he's more insidious than I thought, because he seized on this challenge before I knew what had hit me, and I really wish he hadn't made me write it in first-person. Jerk. shivers (no, seriously, he scares me; help)

There's a line from Gary Allan's "Songs About Rain" in here; knowing the rest of the lyrics, the title, and the melody just serve to make it even more completely wrong.

Alfred Adler thought a lot of our actions stemmed from the willingless or unwillingness to face the risk of failure. Sullivan, who I actually thought about a lot more in the course of this thing, would call most of this "parataxic distortion", with more than a little prototaxic thrown in too.

-

One of the deepest ironies of this situation, I've found, is that I've finally become what everyone wanted me to be. I'm docile, now. I'm tactful, respectful, quiet, even optomistic (without losing a shred of my brilliance), and it's really a shame they're not here to see it.

I don't think they'd like it as much as they would have thought, though. _Be careful what you wish for_, as people used to say.

-

She carries a gun, of course, because all of the Genii carry guns. Even the scientists only relinquish theirs when venturing into the direct vicinity of something that is likely to make that gun explode. Even then, if possible, they substitute a type of gun that won't. A good plan, in Pegasus. But they're getting a little lax, now that they're in the fabled City of the Ancestors.

She's secretly the brightest of the scientists, but for some idiotic human reason or another she never shows it. Probably she's too dense to even realize it herself, because she wanders around the edges of the science labs like someone will discover her as an imposter at any time.

She's bright, and she has a remarkable supply of common sense, because of all the scientists here, she's the only one who's still afraid of me.

Well, I may have been nursing that along a little. You're supposed to nurture bright young minds, after all, and I still find those damned old habits are hard to break.

The artifact turns on in my hands, and I pass it back to her with the smile that I just can't get off my face. "There you are, dear."

"Um, yes," she says, and clutches it to her chest. For all she knows, it could be a hand grenade. Why do these fools always trust me so much? "Thank... thank you."

She always backs away from me when she leaves, apparently trying to keep me in sight for as long as possible. Which is ridiculous; I'm not planning to kill her yet. It would draw so much attention, and really, I don't like blood at all. You'd think she'd realize that, because I did warn her.

Foolish of me, but every teacher has a pet. _That corridor_, I told her. _Right there, in front of that bend. That's where I watched her bleed to death. You can still see the spot, if you look. They tried to wash it out, but blood never, ever goes away. _

She's the only one who's smart enough to understand me. I can see that in her eyes.

-

It took me the longest time to figure out why I let it all happen. In fact, it took me embarassingly long to figure out that I _was_ letting it happen. I thought I was making mistakes, slipping up, that I couldn't think fast enough, that I just wasn't up to it-- sometimes even that it was _impossible_, deluded as I was.

But there's no such thing as an unsolvable problem, not even in Pegasus-- and the solutions always came to me, hours and weeks and months too late. There was no reason for me not to have come up with them in time. I'm a genius; it was my job. I've handled everything this goddamn galaxy chose to throw at me and I could have come up with the answers.

Then our city died, and I finally realized: I didn't solve those problems because I didn't want to.

I didn't want to save anyone. I didn't _like_ anyone. Anyone whom I had any lack of contempt for whatsoever had been killed by incompetents long ago. That's the way of our species: it does its best to brutally extinguish any faint flecks of decency that manage to struggle from the sludge of its brainless crudity.

(Some flecks of decency are still stupid enough to actually collude in the process-- but that's a tale for another day.)

I was struggling through the mud of that godforsaken jungle planet when the epiphany finally hit me. They died; I survived. I didn't save them. Why didn't I save them? Why couldn't I figure out how?

And like a flash of light: I didn't want to. I didn't want to save them. All this time, I've been working toward their destruction. And I've done a damn good job of it, too; I've always prided myself on my workmanship, I must say, and clearly it's justified.

It was so liberating. I didn't fail. I'd succeeded, and I was free of them forever.

Of course, then the Genii found me, but I'd still learned what I needed to.

I'd still learned what I wanted to do.

-

I can understand why they think I'm insane; lesser minds, uncomprehending of my brilliance, would as a matter of course assume that as the most logical cause of my behavior. What I don't understand is why they think I've been rendered harmless. (Not that I haven't been cultivating that impression; I'm no fool. Being underestimated is the most valuable weapon one can have.)

I suppose they think I've broken or something. They think my mind's gone; they think my equations are nonsense, but that's only because I've been lying to them about what they're for. They think I was half-cracked when they found me (probably all that giggling had something to do with that impression, but sudden epiphanies have a rather euphoric effect); they think their "coercion" and "loyalty enforcement" and "attitude recalibrating" (known to the layman as, generally, "torture") have fractured whatever was left of me beyond repair.

So I smile and I sing and I'm nice to every idiot who comes my way. Because what does it matter to me if they're fools anymore? They won't hurt me. If they hurt anyone else, that's just one less I'll have to bother with.

It would be inconvienient if they destroyed the universe before I can finish my plan, but I monitor them closely enough, and besides, I'm fairly certain I could work around that.

-

The lockdown goes into effect just as I'd planned it, on the city's naming-day. Kolyasledwin, they were going to call it. I don't know what 'ledwin' means in Genii but I know damn well what 'Kolya' means and little as it really mattered, I couldn't allow it.

It takes the scientists some time to realize that they're locked down; longer to realize the soldiers are all at the other party (and mostly dead, but they can't know that) and all the leaders are in the control room; but not quite as long as I'd thought to realize that none of their weapons work and they're helpless.

My weapon works, though, and since they're scientists, I only have to demonstrate that once.

The nameday-cake for the scientists' party is smaller and less fancy than that for the commanders, but I think it's rather pleasing. That might have something to do with the fact that I iced it myself. The cooks didn't see any problem with it, harried as they were; they just let me slather on the yellow frosting and hum, _this town has closed down way too early, and there's nothing to do_.

That kid Arksen had been pestering me all day about when they would let him fly the spaceships, so in a moment of weakness, I let him lick the bowl.

Still, it hasn't interfered with my plan-- and I suppose everyone has to allow themselves a little indulgence now and then. This, for example, is rather decadent and self-indulgent of me-- but what harm can it really do?

I smile at them-- or I make the decision to smile at them; they tell me I'm always smiling-- and ask them, "Cake or death?"

They just stare at me; I can see the slow wheels turning in the closest one's head. _Mad, utterly mad, but still mostly harmless._ "Excuse me?"

"It's a choice," I say. "One of those things where you have two alternatives and you have to choose between them? This is your choice: cake or death."

They're still staring at me, but faint smiles are starting to pop up now; people are sharing glances, and it's amazing how you can watch the consensus build. I was never any good at people before, back when I didn't hate them all; it's a strange side effect of my epiphany, that I can finally observe humans and reliably predict their behavior. _He's insane_, they're thinking, _but he's still harmless. If we appease him, he'll let us go, and the medical staff can deal with him then. He'll only get testy if we displease him... so..._

"...Cake, then," says the nearest man. I haven't bothered to learn his name.

"Form a line, please," I say, and cut the man a slice. "Next, please. Cake or death?"

I can see the people near the back of the line getting nervous as the cake grows smaller; they don't really believe I'll kill them when the cake runs out, but they're afraid I might do something crazy, and I could very well end up going into some sort of mad rage, which could very well hurt people, most probably myself. But I know exactly what I'm doing; there's at least three slices left when the last person steps up to the counter.

It's her, of course; she'd never be anywhere in a line but at the end. Her arms are folded around herself, and she's shaking, and she looks up into my eyes.

I don't know if it's her face or her eyes or her flyaway hair, but something about her in that moment reminds me powerfully of Radek Zelenka-- the way he looked up, slowly, from the console into the camera; the way the lights began behind him; the look in his eyes, that said the universe had finally betrayed him (and so much more). It's almost like a flashback, it's so clear. Come to think of it, the day they sent Zelenka on that ridiculous, ridiculous mission was probably the day I decided to destroy them once and for all.

"Cake or death?" I ask her.

I can still see those explosions behind her; still hear rockets screaming through the sky, and I don't know why. Her eyes have gone dark, and it's taking her a while to get any words out.

She looks into my eyes one more time, shudders hard, and says, in a pitifully small voice, "Death, please."

The whole room turns to stare at her. They don't understand that she's right.

"Narisa, what the hell?" one says, but I'm not going to let them second-guess her; I'm not going to let them convince her she was wrong before she dies.

So I smile at her (though apparently there was never a time I wasn't smiling). "Good choice," I tell her, and aim the weapon exactly at her heart.

They never did believe I'd shoot her; they never did believe I wasn't harmless. Apparently it was just _that_ important to them not to be wrong.

-

I'd prefer a larger sample size-- you can _never_ have a large enough sample size-- but I believe I can state with some certainty that my nanovirus works. The timeframe of symptoms was perfect, and the symptoms themselves-- exactly as I pictured it. Let them feel what it's like, for once; let them feel it hovering behind you, constantly at the edge of your awareness-- death at your back, waiting for you to fail. Nameless terror, that no one else can see or understand.

Of course, I learned in the end not to fear dying at all; I learned so very quickly to fear only the deaths of those around me. Some sort of defense mechanism, I suppose, all of it-- I never was much for psychology. Then, neither were certain psychologists I knew. The look on her face after that call: "I just wanted to tell you what you've done to me," he said. And thus he took her down with him. They all killed each other, and I was left; and it hurt so terribly before I realized how badly I'd wanted it all.

Of course, my test version was different than the communicable version, and there's the question of whether anything can properly survive a trip back in time and across an interdimensional rift-- but I've tested them in simulations, and it ought to all work together just fine.

I'll go back in time, as soon as I've cleaned up the city, and seed my virus as far across as many parallel universes as I can; I believe I've discovered a way to open a small rift without causing them all to collapse. Not that it particularly matters, but I'd rather the deaths went according to _my_ plan. The virus should kill at least a few of the Ancients, which is very pleasant to think about, because I've grown to loathe the load of serene bastards. If I get the timing right-- if I go far back enough-- I might prevent this whole mess from ever occuring, in so many different places. That would be kinder.

But in most places, some Ancients will survive, and develop humans as their playthings (or whatever the hell it was they were thinking-- I'm no historian, and to be honest, I've really stopped caring), and this-- this will deprive them of the satisfaction of watching us suffer. It will deprive us, more significantly, of the suffering. The sludge of humanity will be gone and they'll never hurt those flecks of genius again.

It may not work everywhere-- but it will end at least a few lives, somewhere, and that alone is worth the trouble.

But that's in the future, yet; I have more pressing concerns now.

The scientists and soldiers are dead; it's more than time for the city's namesake to die too.

It's about time the Genii learned it too: everyone dies in Atlantis.

Everyone but me.

-


End file.
